


Fragments

by travellinghopefully



Category: Doctor Who (2005), The Musketeers (2014), The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-09 01:04:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 3,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4327926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travellinghopefully/pseuds/travellinghopefully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>chapters in search of a plot....putting the fragments out there to encourage myself to do something with them, or not</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where I am going with any of this, but the inspiration of from all the wonderful fanfics on AO3, and, ok, I admit it the characters Peter Capaldi has portrayed. As there is no plot to any of these, let's go with them all being AU....  
> Also, trying to get over changing tense mid way through something for no good reason whatsoever  
> and, I continue to be astonished by typos, no matter how many times I re-read things

I drew him into my arms, I felt him tense and stiff under my fingers.

His head dropped to my shoulder, his lips to my throat. His tension changed, his own hands lifted and moved, pulling at my clothes, giving his mouth access to more of my skin.

As I responded to his touch he moaned quietly as his mouth closed over my right breast, still covered in lace and silk. His skilled tongue and hot mouth drove my hands to his hair, fisting tightly and pulling him closer urging him.

I gasped, and, at that he kissed me, rough and eager his tongue probing and his lips teasing . 

 

He was definitely wearing entirely too many clothes, I worked on the buttons of his shirt, cursing his cuff-links as I prised the shirt off his shoulders. Leaving him imprisoned as it dangled from his wrists. He pulled back, quirked an eyebrow at me and ripped the shirt away.

He looked at me intently, reaching behind me and unclasping my bra. He kissed me again, this time his hand in my hair, loosing it from its clasp, his other hand returning to my breast, his artists fingers drawing mewls from me as he continued to caress me. 

My hands went to his belt and buttons and his zip. His trousers dropped past his slim hips to pool at his feet. My hand brushed against his arousal still covered in soft cotton. Moisture already beaded at his tip and as my hand moved with greater purpose his cock twitched with interest. I stepped back and pulled down his boxers, my hand closing around him. I caressed him, my thumb swiping over the glistening head, earning me a groan of appreciation. I moved forward again to reclaim his mouth. His response was more frantic this time, far less controlled.


	2. Social conventions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> really, there is no plot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no idea - no living people were harmed in the writing of this

His mouth just brushed mine, the most chaste of touches, enough for me to feel his stubble barely graze my skin, enough for me to feel the heat of him close to me, enough for me to smell the hint of whiskey on his breath, his cologne that somehow avoided the cloying sickly sweetness of so many aftershaves, the barest touch of his hand on my arm. 

Less than a second, he had already turned away, his kiss a polite social gesture, nothing more.

I reached out my hand to place on his back, to make him turn round and stopped. Did he want this? Was it just me that was caught up in my imagination, wanting him, day after day after day? I let my hand fall and then as he reached the door, he glanced back. 

I don’t know what my expression told him, but his hand dropped from the handle and he turned fully back to me.

Closing the distance to me in one long stride his arms wrapped round me, his hands moving from my face, to my hair to my breasts and settling on my arse, pulling me firmly against him. 

His kiss this time was entirely different, the utterly uncoordinated kiss of desperate, driven lust, we bumped noses, smacked teeth. He almost snarled as his tongue finally claimed me.

My earlier doubts were swept away, he wanted me, his growing arousal pressing insistently against me, his hips rutting against mine, his breathing increasingly ragged.

He stepped back.

Please let him not decide that this was a mistake. Please let him not decide that work place relationships were inappropriate. Please let him not stop what he’d been doing to my body. He turned and locked the door and reclaimed me. His hands started to work on my clothes but his mouth refused to leave mine leading to the inevitable tangle of limbs.

This time I stepped back pulling my top over my head, I reached to unclasp my bra and his hands stopped me, completing the task himself. His lips closed over my left breast, his mouth pulling and teasing and licking and sucking, and just the lightest pressure from his teeth.

I didn’t want to keep standing, my knees trembling I pulled him towards the sofa. Turning I pushed him backwards, then I straddled him. Dispensing with his tie I began to work on the buttons of his shirt. Pushing his jacked and shirt off his shoulders I rolled my eyes at finding another layer, a t-shirt underneath. I wanted his skin against mine, not clothing.

He chuckled at my frustration. Fully shedding his shirt and jacket, he pulled the other offending garment over his head and tossed it away. I moved to capture his nipple with my mouth, eliciting a surprised moan from him. His hand fisted in my hair and I smiled against him, thrilled that he was so responsive.


	3. Wrecked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> really - there is nothing happening here but smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> variations on a theme

I have felt my own arousal, the liquid throb, the sensation of the whole body centred round an inner pulse, eyes intent on another's hands.

Watching fingers move and eyes grow wide.

Aching to feel the hands, and fingers and mouth on me, feel breath mingling with mine, feel the weight of another on me and in me, moving against me, bringing me closer and closer to absence and ecstasy.

Losing myself in sweat and sensation, moans and breathless cries, inarticulate sounds, gasped endearments and pleas and the repeated litany of a name, urging and urging.

I watched him, his head thrown back, mouth agape, neck tendons rigid as he came. Helpless and breathless and utterly wrecked before me.


	4. wingfic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by TheCrazyGeek  
> wonderful, wonderful Thick of It wingfics  
> this, isn't

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> had a plot in my head, the plot wandered off and I was left with this
> 
> wingfic - the good stuff  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/search?utf8=%E2%9C%93&work_search%5Bquery%5D=malcolm+tucker+wingfic
> 
> the sculpture http://www.bbc.co.uk/southscotland/content/image_galleries/treasuredplaces_gallery.shtml?12

My wings were ridiculously large, if I wanted to walk, I looked like Professor Yaffle from Bagpuss.

Constantly fighting for balance, about to pitch forward and smack my nose or chin or head. 

It was easier to keep my wings tucked away, except when it came to flying. Flying was the one exception to everything, the one thing that made every other bit of ridiculousness and toe curling embarrassment ok, the one point where I didn't look and feel like an idiot, my wings outspread, soaring aloft, at one with the air. 

Everything was still patently silly, here I was nearly 50 and I suddenly had wings, compelled to join a class of children and youths, people worried about Peppa Pig, spots and One Direction (yes, you can hear my eyes rolling). 

A whole life of suppressions and repression, denying who I was, what I was. 

In one way it was easy to understand, I had been given, dedicated from birth into service as a guardian – my wings were bound.

As such I lived my life unknowing, compressed, restricted, but only in my nagging subconscious a memory before conscious memory. And then, I wasn't a Guardian any more.

My tenure ended with as much active participation from me as had my beginning. But...with a "by the way, you're Winged!"

Now, I had heard of them, seen some of them, probably spoken with some, but to be Winged? I was clueless.

I arrived on the Farthest Isles (imaginative huh?, I got the impression that it was an old joke that stuck, instead of the read Gaelic name). The weather was as you'd expect for the North Atlantic, driving rain and wind. Having no wind sense yet, I had gripped the arm rests of the seats in the private jet. When we finally touched down, it took me some moments to relax and release my grip. 

I was late, something I truly abhorred. I had stopped in Glasgow, called home by old memories, walking along Sauchiehall and Dalhousie Streets, gazing at the School of Art and once again trying to decide (as I had since childhood) whether the pigeon on the rooftop ironwork was real, or part of the sculpture.

On a whim, I went to the Cathedral, to light a candle, offer my intercessions and clear my head. I wasn't a Guardian now, so the whiff of demons, the corruption and rot, worse than an abattoir, than a nest of maggots, the smell that stuck to you, and rolled over you and clung to you, didn't hit me immediately, didn't warn me soon enough.

And, the demons were legion, the priests screaming in terror, as claws and fire rent the air.

-Oh fuck- this wasn't good. I had water I could bless and I could pray for the Light of God, but as for me, I was defenceless and weapon-less and scared. 

Scared was new. I had known my place in the order of things, I had known what the Lord required of me, and then this, I was adrift. 

Shaking off my immobility I walked towards the altar with purpose, with prayer fragments skittering through my thoughts, attempting to focus and hold onto something of use.


	5. Nuzzle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how many times is it possible to write "moth" instead of "mouth"

I wanted to nuzzle him, place my head in the hollow of his neck, against his throat.

Press my lips against his pulse, nip and lick and suck.

I wanted to heard the soft sounds he made, the hitches in his breath, the almost gasp.

To feel his arms close around me, a hand in my hair.

I moved my attention to just behind his ear, and then caused him to yelp, as I delicately nipped his earlobe.

-Enough- was his one word, as he started to kiss me.

Chaste, closed mouthed, gentle kisses - as light and fleeting as a butterfly. Along my jaw, the corner of my mouth, my throat.

Then his tongue licked across my lips, and I opened my mouth to him. His kisses were deep and passionate and he caressed my tongue with his. Finally touching the roof of my mouth, knowing it made me squirm, both with ticklishness and arousal.


	6. sentences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> absolute fragments

the man in the library talking to his loved one about bones being posted and eventually realising he was talking about phones

-

outlined a day that sparkles, blue and white and then washed out with the intensity of light

-

her notebook was on the stand, under the phone, there were notes and numbers, but none of it made any sense (it did to her, but, she is gone)

-

I know I couldn't cope if he cried, I would have to cover him in kisses

 

-

hot blood just running out of me, is not something I want to experience again

-

the moment when you see someone across the street, and you go to shout "hello" and then you remember they are dead

-

took a photo of my shadow and felt that was all that remains

 

-

on getting in the bath with him - "I don't need your help to get clean!" - "that's not why I got in the bath"

-

him, behind you, hard, pressed against your silk clad backside, you can feel every hot, hard inch of him - but...you are in the middle of a crowded event and you don't know each other.


	7. Embarrassed

His body language was off, head down, slightly embarrassed.

-I want to ask you something-

-Yeah?- (what now, honestly, you were too tired to be polite or interested)

He hesitated, bit his lip, and looked if anything a little exasperated.

-I wondered if you would go out with me?-

-WHAT?!??!- (ok, I was more exhausted than I thought, now I was hallucinating. I was sure he had just asked me out)

He just about managed to make eye contact and said

-Really, I'm no good at this I'm not comfortable with this, I'm too old for this, but I'm asking you out. I'm asking you for a date-

I had to stop myself, my first reaction was to roll my eyes, closely followed by grinning inanely - and the combination would have looked like I should be committed.

-I'm sorry- I began

He flapped is hands at me, shushing me

-I shouldn't have said anything, of course you don't want to date, why should you be interested in me....-

-WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP!-

He blinked.

-No!-

He was going to speak again, and I really needed him to shut up, so I could think, so I could give a coherent reply.

-Right. The thought of dating fills me with something between terror and horror - (the look on his face) -NO! Dating is bad, being invited by you to spend time with you, is wonderful Now, I'm sorry, that's as coherent as I can manage. I've been on my feet for what seems like forever and I have to sleep. -

The storm of expressions that crossed his face whilst I spoke was quite something, but when I mentioned sleep, the look he gave me could have melted steel.

It was my turn to raise my eyebrows at him

-That wasn't an invitation-

He leaned forward and kissed me, Just one, feather light touch. That was enough to have me fighting to keep my hands at my side, not wrapped round his neck, not locked in his hair. 

My expression probably gave me away though and he kissed me again, his arms around me.


	8. Arousal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meh

He talks down his arousal, ignores it, wills it away.

Until he thinks - fuck it- and "takes the matter in hand".

No teasing, no sensitive caress, no taking his clothes off, not even stopping to make himself comfortable.

Just hard, and rough and fast.

He is nearly overwhelmed as he comes. He clenches his teeth, refusing to give voice even to a moan.

He discards the handful of tissues, tucks himself away and assiduously washes his hands. 

His knees don't threaten to give way, and he doesn't mutter "fuck", and he absolutely doesn't think of her, or picture her face, or contemplate how she would taste or the sounds she would make.

And, he isn't just as rock hard again a ridiculously short time later.


	9. Palm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this and then immediately forgot the context - think it was a hidden corner somewhere very public (but why would they be wearing pjs in public.....) hmmmmm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to write "moth" again

Waking up hard, he's rubbing himself against you. Kissing your throat, and the back of your neck, mumbling obscenities and endearments and your name, over and over.

His fingers find their way into your pj's, touching you intimately.

-Oh, love -

He pushes your pjs down and you hear the rustle of his clothing, he positions himself against you, just teasing

-Are you ok?-

-You're going to have to put a hand over my mouth, there's no way I can keep quiet-

One hand moved to gently touch my face, his amazing fingers caressing my jaw, my lips, my nose. Very lightly he placed his palm over my mouth - I kissed it, and then bit the fleshy part beneath his thumb as he thrust into me.

I didn't need to worry about any sounds I might have make, his moans were load and low.


	10. sob

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> last one for now

-Come here-

I stepped forward, and his arms wrapped round me. I couldn't help it, I started to sob.

-Shhhh, shhh, you're safe.-

His hands moved over my arms and back, gentle and soothing. Distractedly, I realised his mouth was against my hair, softly kissing me, murmuring continued reassurance.

I gave a great gulping sob and pushed myself backwards, frantically scrabbling in my bag for a hanky. No delicately dabbing at my eyes and nose, my face was running with tears and snot. I blew my nose, blinked and felt my eyes burn. I crossed to the sink and splashed water over my face - I flailed around for a towel and he passed me one.

-I am so sorry-, I began

-Shhh, there's no need-, and he closed his arms around me again. 

I turned my head against his chest, still struggling to breath as the crying wouldn't stop. He continued to gently touch me and offer soothing words.

I found myself mumbling, -You must be a great dad-

His hands firmly gripped my upper arms and he stepped back.

-I can assure you, my feelings are anything but paternal.-


	11. Endorphins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no sleep and some hours on a train and taking the skin off my knees - what else was I going to do, but write more fragments

He cupped my face with his hands, his lips touched the corner of my mouth, the top lip, the bottom one, soft and fleeting and tantalising.

 

“Kissing releases natural endorphins, excellent pain killers.”

 

“I didn’t graze my lips.” For fecks sake, now was not the time for pedantic logic, seriously, shut up brain.

 

“Do you want me to stop?”

 

I fisted my hands in the material of his shirt and pulled him closer. 

 

“No!” – better brain, much better.

 

He kissed me harder, his tongue licking against my lower lip, causing me to shiver.

 

He pulled away. Dammit.

 

“Vigorous exercise releases endorphins too.”

 

I looked at him, had he ever met me before? “I loathe exercise.” Oh, wait....

 

He looked at me and blinked.

 

He elaborated, “Very vigorous exercise, the kind that makes your heart race and your pulse pound...” He smirked.

 

“Oh...”


	12. Indecent

His ragged old-fashioned stripped pyjama bottoms sat low on his thin hips, a tantalising expanse of toned and tanned belly showed beneath his t-shirt.

 

“How can you be so impossibly sexy?” 

 

“Sexy?”

 

He was astonishingly and endearingly oblivious sometimes.

 

“If those bottoms slip any lower, you’ll be positively indecent.” 

 

Please, let them slip.

 

I beckoned him closer, he pulled his top over his head.

 

As he stepped closer I just happened to inch them lower.

 

“Magnificently indecent indeed.”....


	13. Library

I arrived at the library at first thing, to continue working, safe from the distractions of the phone, fridge and any number of imagined important tasks that would cause me to enter an infinite loop of procrastination, if I remained at home.

 

I headed to where I’d agreed with the librarian that it was OK to leave my books. 

 

There was a man already sitting there, my books piled haphazardly on the floor, and I couldn’t get to them without getting him to move. He was engrossed in writing something with a fine old fountain pen.

 

“I’m sorry,” I said, moving forward.

 

“Why are you apologizing?” he glared at me.

 

“I’m not sorry, I meant excuse me, I need you to move.” I forgot to say, please.

 

“I didn’t see a reserved sign.”

 

“No! I need to get passed you to get to my books.”

 

He glanced at the floor and barely moved his chair, just enough for me to make an ungainly scrabble to reach them. 

Then I remembered that rather than my usual jeans I was in skirt and stockings, I was probably giving him an eyeful. Annoyance and embarrassment warred for the upper hand. Securing the last volume I looked for a free table and promptly clonked my head as I attempted to stand up, scattering the books further – could he not just give me a hand? 

 

As I scrambled free, I hastily glanced at my newest best enemy and found he was assiduously focused on his own note taking.

 

I proffered an unnecessarily sarcastic “thank you” and moved away.

 

Trying not to burn with anger, shame, annoyance, embarrassment, I settled down, got out a bottle of water, my notebook and attempted to focus on the incomplete research in front of me.

 

Taking a swig of water, I studied the man. What on earth was he wearing? A waistcoat, crisp white shirt – sleeves rolled and and really was that? On the back of his chair, a red velvet coat?

 

Did he think himself a dandy? Was it dress from the 70s day?

 

Right, this was procrastination 101, my ultimate skill, really, time to work.

 

But, damn, despite his age, he really was very handsome. Oh shut up brain, honestly, focus. Do not find annoying, unhelpful, rude men handsome, its not productive. 

 

OK, I was talking to myself.


	14. Edge

He rolled into bed at an unearthly hour, wrapping me in his arms and sighing into my hair, his whole body pressed flush against mine. 

 

In the early days of us living together, when work kept him late, he would creep in and slide into bed, keeping still and close to the edge, trying not to wake me.

 

Already I had stopped sleeping soundly without him, unable to fully submerge ‘til we were in each other’s arms. 

 

I had rolled over to scoop him into my arms every time, until he had fallen straight out of bed, being so close to the edge. 

 

We laid in each others arms on the floor, laughing helpless and then making love so tenderly.

 

He never feared waking me after that night, always claiming me and embracing me.

 

If it wasn’t so late, his hands would slide down over my curves, his lips kissing my shoulder, neck, throat, until I turned round in his arms and claimed his mouth with mine.


End file.
